Set Free An Ocean
by DaVinci13
Summary: GS. When Nick, Sara and Grissom get called to a crime scene in the desert they soon find that mother nature can be just as harsh and unforgiving as any murderer.
1. Chapter 1: The Gully

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or anything related.

Chapter 1: The Gully

As Grissom, Sara, and Nick exited their SUV and made their careful way over the rocks to where Detective Jim Brass and Officer Jamieson stood waiting, they took in their surroundings with practiced eyes. The sun was just rising, slowly warming the desert, and Grissom sighed as he pushed his sunglasses up his nose again. It was going to be a long day after an even longer night, and he wasn't looking forward to it. Nevertheless, he kept his displeasure to himself, banished all thoughts of his bed from his mind, and glanced down into the gully before them. The body rested at the bottom, and Grissom sighed again.

"What's up, Jim?"

Brass chuckled at the look on Grissom's face, and wiped the sweat from his face with the sleeve of his jacket. "DB, as I'm sure you can see; black male, in his late twenties or thereabouts."

"Been down there already, have you? Quite a climb," Nick prodded, noting how the Captain's breathing was fairly heavy. Brass gave him a look.

"Yeah, well, I'm not climbing down there with you again, so have fun, Nicky."

Sara, smiling at their easy banter, stepped up next to Grissom and glanced down as well. The side of the gully wasn't too steep, and they would probably be able to walk down it; they would be able to walk up it, too, even if it did take an extra bit of effort. She remembered the last case she had had down in a gully like this, and she looked over at Grissom, whose eyes remained fixed straight ahead.

"Too bad we couldn't get a chopper, at least for the body; then we could hitch a ride."

Grissom didn't respond, merely glancing at her for a moment before turning to talk to Brass, and she frowned and looked away.

_Great, he's mad at me again, _she thought bitterly, but the next second she forced the thought out of her mind as Officer Jamieson, Nick and Grissom began walking down the slope towards the body. _Get your ass in gear, Sidle, _she reprimanded herself, and she followed after them, making sure to keep her balance so she didn't make an even bigger fool of herself.

Getting down the hill was harder than Sara had thought it would be; despite the many rocky areas there were also areas that were simply sand and shale, and if they weren't careful the ground would shift and slide right out from under them. All were grateful when they were on firm ground again, and could make their way over to the body without worry.

"All right," Grissom began, surveying the scene as Jamieson took up a stand a few yards away, "we can't touch the body yet, David's still out there somewhere, so I want you two to just take a look around, see if there's anything that might be relative to the case. Bag anything and everything; it's all evidence…"

"Until it's not, Gris, we know," Nick supplied, a grin flickering over his features.

Grissom shook his head, and a wry smile lit his own face briefly. "Get to work, Nick."

_Well, _Sara thought with a sigh as she began a systematic search in the pathetic looking shrubs at the side of the gully, _at least someone's still in his good books. _Then, once again, she immediately felt guilty. It wasn't Nick's fault that Grissom was being an ass to her. Pushing all thoughts of her two colleagues from her mind then, Sara turned back to the task at hand. At least her work was something that was easily understood.

* * *

As Grissom glanced over the body and began taking pictures, he couldn't help but feel guilty for ignoring Sara. He didn't like the way things were going between them, and he often lay awake at night agonizing over what he should do. When it came right down to it, though, he couldn't seem to change anything. Whenever she tried to start up a conversation with him, he either cut it short or ignored her completely. It was hard, trying to understand both her and himself. _Or maybe, _he thought irritably, _you're just too scared to try. _

With that thought chasing around in his brain, Grissom moved from the body and began his own search of the surrounding area, avoiding the sections that Nick and Sara had already been through. It was hard work, climbing his way over the rocks and debris under a hot sun, and it wasn't long before Grissom had to shed his jacket. He cursed his dark clothes, wishing that he had chosen to wear lighter colours today, but in the end there wasn't much he could do about it and he settled into a routine – take a few steps, search the area, wipe the sweat from his face, and then do it again.

Finally, he had to admit that there was nothing there for him find. Glancing up, he saw that Nick and Sara were still searching, though they both looked discouraged; it wasn't surprising. It had been close to an hour since they started, and while they had already covered most of the ground that warranted attention, he knew there wasn't much hope that the rest of the area would yield results. And even when they were finished with the surrounding area, they still needed to take a look at the body. Walking back to their victim, where he had left his kit, Grissom pulled out a bottle of water and took a sip. He grimaced as the liquid slid over his parched tongue; the sun had warmed it to the point that while it wet his mouth, it did little to make him feel any cooler.

"Great," he sputtered, swallowing the disgusting stuff anyways, "Just great."

"Do I detect a note of sarcasm, Gris? What's up?" Sara asked from behind him, and he jumped.

He started to say 'nothing,' but then cringed internally. It was a bottle of water, for crying out loud, what was the point in avoiding it?

"My water's warm," he told her, holding up the bottle. "It's been in the sun too long."

Sara laughed, but she wasn't laughing at him, and suddenly the fact that they were stuck at a crime scene in the middle of the desert under the hot sun didn't seem like such a bad thing anymore. Grissom smiled. _It's ok, _he told himself. _For now, everything's ok. _

Just then, they were interrupted as Nick called to them from where he was working, farther down the gully.

"Wonder what he's found," Grissom mused out loud.

Sara glanced at him; he was so hard to figure out. One minute he wouldn't even respond to something she said to him, and the next he was the one initiating the conversation.

"Probably something better than what we found," she replied, and then she began to pick her way over the rocks to where the Texan stood, waving his arms.

Taking a last swig from his warm water bottle, Grissom made a face, replaced the offending item in his kit, and followed.

* * *

"Shoeprint," Nick informed them, as he snapped another picture and then began to make a mould of the impression.

"Good work, Nicky," Grissom complimented the younger man, kneeling down to take a look himself. It wasn't a great print – a breeze had already distorted it somewhat – but it was all they had and Grissom would take it. When Nick was finished, they stood and made their way back to the body and Officer Jamieson together.

"Take a look at the body," Grissom said, running the short sleeve of his shirt over his face again, "Tell me if you see anything of interest. Don't touch."

Both Nick and Sara stared at him, and he sighed. "Just reminding you," he defended himself. They just shook their heads, and turned back to the body.

"He's got lacerations on his neck, Gris," Sara pointed out, and Grissom nodded. He had already seen those; he was hoping that they would notice something that he had missed.

It only took ten minutes for the two younger CSIs to become frustrated again, and they looked up at Grissom.

"Gris, this is stupid, where the hell is David?"

"I have no idea, Nick, so just keep looking. Your eyes do work, don't they?"

"Yeah, but…"

"But nothing, Nick; we do what we can until David gets here."

Nick didn't respond, but it was obvious he was annoyed when he crouched down next to the body again and began to inspect the victim's clothing.

Another five minute passed, and then they all glanced up as Jamieson's radio crackled loudly.

For a moment he spoke with the person on the other end, and then he turned to the criminalists. "The coroner's here," he informed them. "You should be able to get started on the body for real in a few minutes."

"Thank God," Grissom muttered, "It's about time."

Nick and Sara sat back on their heels in relief, grateful that they would finally be able to do something that would actually be productive, and might help the case. Glancing up at Grissom, Sara was about to ask whether they were going to inspect the body here or wait till it was back at the morgue when she stopped short at the look of horror on his face.

"Gris, what…" And then she turned to follow the direction of his gaze, and she felt herself go cold. A wall of water was rushing down on them from the head of the gully, and it was moving fast.

"Run!" Grissom bellowed, and before she could move he had grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to her feet, shoving her towards the side of the gully. "Go!"

And she did, running, stumbling over the rocks, with the three men right behind her. As they reached the side and began to climb, Nick quickly passed the group and made it to the top, pulled up by Brass and David. Immediately, when he was safe, he turned and grabbed Sara's arm.

"Sara," he yelled. His face was white with fear as the water rushed closer. "Sara, you can do it, God, please, you can do it!"

Suddenly, beside Sara, Officer Jamieson slipped on the shale. In a panic, he lunged upwards and grabbed Nick. The sudden weight caused the younger man to slip himself, and he hit the ground hard, losing his grip on Sara as he did so. Sara, who had been trusting Nick to help pull her up, fell backwards, as did Officer Jamieson.

Grissom saw it all from behind Sara, and without even thinking he lunged sideways and wrapped his arms around her. Together, the two of them slid backwards until they were almost at the bottom again. Swearing, Grissom dug his heels into the slope and pushed upwards with all his strength.

"Jim!" he screamed, shoving Sara ahead of him, "Jim, take her!" But she slid back into him again, unable to regain her footing, and finally he wrapped his arms around her again and threw her upwards. Brass, leaning over as far as he could, managed to grab hold of her hand, and he pulled her up.

"Come on, Grissom!" he yelled, as he and David both leaned over again, reaching for Grissom's hand. But throwing Sara the way he had had ruined his balance, and as he slid backwards the water roared the last few feet and snatched his legs out from under him, engulfing him in its raging mass and lifting his body off the ground.

"Jim!" he screamed, clawing at the rocks in a desperate attempt to haul himself out, but the torrent was too strong and he was once again submerged, his body ripped from the rocky face as debris slammed into him. The last thing he saw as he was swept under was Officer Jamieson's terrified face as he, too, lost his hold and was swallowed.

* * *

"Grissom! No!" It was all Brass could do to hold onto Sara as she kicked and screamed and fought, her only thoughts of Grissom, and the look on his face as he had realized they wouldn't be able to save him.

"No, Sara, you can't. I'm so sorry, sweetheart, you can't. I'm sorry." Tears were running down his face, but no one else was crying; all Sara could do was scream; David was sitting in the dust, shock written all over his face; Nick was the same way, clutching his wounded arm too his chest.

"I'm sorry, Sara," Brass repeated, as suddenly her body went limp in his arms. "God, I'm so sorry." And then she cried, too; great sobs that shook her whole body, and slowly the two sank to the ground, crying and holding each other as the water rushed on beneath them.

* * *

"It was a flash flood," the man quietly informed them half an hour later. "The heavy rain started about eight o'clock, up in the mountains; there was nothing that could have been done."

Brass, Nick and Sara just stared blankly at him, and a few seconds later, he walked away.

"Flash flood," Nick muttered, "Of course it was a flash flood. We're not stupid. None of us are stupid." His body trembled slightly as the tears started again, and Brass pulled him into a rough hug, trying to comfort the younger man in any way he could. When Nick finally regained control of himself and pulled back, Brass glanced at Sara, checking to see if she was all right. She wasn't. Her face was completely blank, her eyes misted over, and it appeared that she would collapse at any second. She was completely exhausted, both emotionally and physically.

"Sara," he murmured, taking her arm and pulling her towards him, "Sara, talk to me."

But she merely stared right through him, and as her body began to tremble he hugged her tightly to his chest. "It's ok," he murmured, "It's going to be ok."

* * *

"What do you mean he's gone?" Catherine screamed, as she stood next to the ambulance at the top of the gulley. She had been called fifteen minutes before, and she, Warrick and Greg had broken all the speed limits on the ride here. And now she found that it was for nothing. Grissom was gone.

"How could you?" she screamed, "How could you let this happen?"

Brass shook his head, and pulled Sara's sleeping form closer to him. "I'm sorry, Catherine," he told her, his voice soft, "I tried to… we all tried. It was a flash flood. There was nothing we could do."

But Catherine, almost hysterical, couldn't be convinced, and she turned and stormed over to the gulley. The water was practically gone now; it had slowed and then reduced to a trickle mere minutes after it began, and Catherine half-ran, half-slid down the incline, screaming his name.

"Grissom! Gil!"

She only got a few yards before Warrick caught up to her and grabbed her.

"Catherine, stop," he began, but she turned and smacked him.

"No, you stop!" she screamed. "You just stop, damn it! Let me go! Grissom!"

"Catherine, Cath, hey, come here."

"No! God damn you!" she hit him again, slamming her fists into his chest, and he didn't try to stop her until she collapsed into his arms, sobbing. "Oh God, Grissom."

Still sitting in the ambulance beside Greg and Nick, Brass forced himself not to cry as he heard Catherine's agonized screams. Despite Grissom's best efforts to remain removed from the people he worked with, he had failed, and they hadn't realized how much they loved him until he was gone.

"He's gone," Brass muttered, and the words didn't sound right. How could Grissom be gone, anyways?

Nick and Greg, both lost in thought, glanced at him. "What?" Nick asked, his voice cracking as he was overcome by his emotions again. Greg patted his shoulder tentatively, his own eyes watering.

"You never… you never realize how much you love someone, until they're gone," Brass said, and he hugged Sara tighter as the tears started again. Shit. He wished he could sleep, like her; wished he had exhausted himself in frantic denial of what had happened and then gotten lost in the comforting blackness. But he couldn't, because he needed to take care of her. Grissom would have wanted him to take care of her.

"She's exhausted," Greg murmured, as though he had read Brass's mind. "Maybe we should take her home."

"Yeah," Brass responded, rubbing his face with his free arm. "Nick, are you ok?"

"I'm fine, Jim. Everything's taken care of."

He held up his bandaged arm. It still hurt - the paramedics had said he had probably bruised the bone – but the last thing he wanted to do was go to the hospital to get any tests done. He just wanted to go home, and maybe get a drink; or two, or three. Maybe they would banish Grissom from his mind; wipe away the image of his mentor's terror as he was pulled under. And he definitely did not want to be here when the search team found Grissom's body.

"Yeah… once Warrick and Catherine get back, let's get out of here."

A moment later, Warrick appeared before them, his arms still wrapped around Catherine, whose eyes were red and puffy from crying.

"I'm sorry," she whispered hoarsely. "I'm so sorry."

Brass shook his head. "I know, Cath," he replied, just as softly. And then he glanced at Warrick; his eyes were still wet, and it relieved Brass to see that he wasn't going to try and push it away. He didn't think that any of them could handle being cut off from each other at a time like this.

"Come on, guys," he said then, "Let's go."

Sara was so light Brass was able to carry her to his car without waking her, and he set her down on the back seat gently, suddenly worried about her weight. She shouldn't be so thin. Yet even as he thought it, he realized that it was absurd to be thinking about such a thing at a time like this, and he sighed and released his hold on her. At the loss of contact she whimpered in her sleep, and her eyelids flickered.

"Hey," he murmured, touching her cheek, "Its ok, sweetheart, we're here. It's ok." Nick slid in beside her and she calmed. Brass took in the sight for a moment, noting how Sara looked heartbroken even in sleep, and Nick just looked lost.

For Grissom, it was over. For them, it was just beginning. As he got into the driver's side, he caught a glimpse of Warrick's SUV driving slowly down the road; Catherine sat in the front seat, staring blankly out the window; Greg sat in the back, his body shaking with sobs. Yes; for them, it was only beginning.

* * *

It didn't take long to reach Sara's house, and Brass carried her inside; once again, she didn't wake up, and he laid her in her bed and pulled up the covers, kissing her forehead gently as he would his own daughter as he tucked her in. He wasn't surprised when Nick crawled onto the bed as well, lying down beside her and resting his injured arm over her stomach protectively.

"You're right, Jim," he murmured as a stray tear trickled down his cheek, and he closed his eyes again. "You never know how much you love someone until they're gone. She's been waiting for so long… and now there's no chance he'll ever figure it out."

Brass had no response to that, and he slumped down wearily in the chair beside her bed. "God, Grissom, why did you have to leave her?" he said into the silence, but he received no answer. "At least when you were here, there were _some _good times."

* * *

Hours later, Brass was pulled from his light doze by the feeling of someone watching him, and he looked up; his eyes were immediately drawn to the wide, agonized brown gaze that stared back at him.

"He's really gone, isn't he?" she whispered hoarsely.

He wanted to lie; wanted to tell her that Grissom was fine, and everything was going to be all right. But he couldn't, so he nodded his head stiffly. "Yeah, Sara. He's gone."

And she closed her eyes, and turned over, burying her head in Nick's chest. If Grissom was gone, then there was no longer any reason to get up. There was no longer any reason to live.


	2. Chapter 2: Discoveries

A/N: I'm proud to say that _most _of you guys trust me...

Chapter 2: Discoveries

The sun was so warm… it was nice, just lying there like that, feeling drowsy in the heat despite the cool liquid that still ran over his legs. So warm… and then the pain hit. Oh, God, it hurt. He groaned, a low, tortured sound, and tried to take a steadying breath, but found to his dismay that the effort only increased his agony.

This new intensity of feeling blindsided him, and he began to cough and gag violently as he emptied his stomach of all the water he had swallowed. It took most of what little strength he had left to turn his head to the side so he wouldn't choke to death on his own vomit, and as he watched, through haze filled eyes, as the blood and water he had coughed up pooled in the mud under his head, he realized he was crying; crying for the pain, and for the fact that he hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye to anyone. _Sara's all right, though, _he told himself as his breathing became more laboured. _Sara's all right, and that's the only thing that matters. _It was his last thought as the pain overwhelmed him and his body became limp in the darkness that followed.

* * *

"Delaney, you and Alice take this section here." As the commander of the search team pointed out an area on the large map of the gully, Blake Delaney met his partner's gaze and the two quickly exited the tent. They had a big area to search; it was going to be a long day.

It wasn't until they were outside that Alice Waite spoke as she quickly checked to make sure they had all their first aid supplies. "What are the odds we're looking for a body?" she asked softly.

Blake glanced at her, grimacing. "Pretty good. This gully isn't very wide; plenty of debris at the bottom that would get swept up in a flash flood."

"I hate looking for a body," his young partner said fiercely as he started up his old pickup truck and they bounced down the dirt road.

He nodded in agreement. "Yeah, well, it's our job to find people, dead or alive."

"Sometimes this job sucks."

"All jobs suck sometimes, Allie," he murmured, attempting to sooth her a bit. Every once in a while she got like this on a job; it was something he had become used to after two years partnered with her, and he did his best to make sure she was all right. "This doesn't have anything to do with the fact that it's Gil Grissom and Dean Jamieson we're looking for, does it?"

"I don't know," she muttered, staring out the window. "I mean, it's not like I knew them. Well, not really; I only talked to Grissom a couple of times, and Jamieson I only met once. But still. It's like… it's like no one can ever get a break in this damn town."

"Listen to you," Blake said with a smirk in an attempt to lighten the mood, "You're sounding like a jaded cop."

Alice chuckled a bit at that, but it was a bitter sound. "I'm a jaded search and rescue worker who's tired of finding dead bodies."

There was silence for a long moment, and then she glanced at her partner. "I told you that I'm… thinking about maybe going back to school, right? Quitting?"

"Yeah, you told me," Blake replied softly. He told himself that he would feel bad if she left because he would be stuck with a rookie partner who would need to be taken care of, but he knew that it was because he cared for her. In two years she had become like a little sister to him; they were close. He also knew that though she often got discouraged, and was talking about quitting, she wouldn't be happy if she followed through with her plan. This was where she belonged; beside him, finding people, and rescuing them. Smiling to himself sadly as he parked the truck at the edge of the gulley, he watched as she piled out the door and attached her walkie talkie to her belt.

"You coming, Blake?" she asked, though her eyes held a different question.

Blake nodded, grinning at her as best he could. "Let's find us a live one today, all right?"

"Blake, don't," she began, wearily, "They already found Dean Jamieson, and his neck was snapped. We both know…"

He cut her off. "Oh, come on, Allie; for once let's just forget the facts and the statistics. We're going to find Gil Grissom alive."

"Blake…"

But he had already slung the first aid bag over his shoulders and started down the steep slope. "Hurry up, Allie. Aren't we supposed to be a team? You know, work together?"

* * *

It was hours later when he came to again, and he wished immediately that he hadn't as blood bubbled in his throat and he coughed, sending shocks of pain through his body. It was like the tide that he had studied on the beach by his childhood home; wave after incessant wave, never stopping, just fading away and then rushing back, time after time. The darkness came and went with the waves, and he realized that the pain disappeared when the world went black. With this conclusion, he began to hate the light, and the pain and heat and blood that it brought. It stood for everything that would wear him down and kill him in the end.

It was from the light, however, as time marched on, and his body trembled and stilled with the pattern he had become locked into, that he realized he could hear voices. What were they saying? Were they real people, or figments of a fever-ridden imagination?

"Jesus… he's alive!"

The voice was loud, assaulting his mind painfully, and he tentatively allowed himself to pray that it was real; someone here to save him. It must be real, if it caused such pain.

And then he knew for sure that it was as a hand touched his body, gently poking and prodding as the owner of the voice felt for injuries. Grissom nearly wept with relief as the talk continued, and he heard a woman's voice as well.

"If we don't get him to the hospital soon, Blake, it won't matter if he made it this far or not."

_Won't matter… _Grissom knew the words should hold some meaning for him, but he couldn't think; he didn't want to think. He just wanted the pain to stop. His wish wasn't to be granted soon, though, he realized as the hand lifted his torn shirt, so as to inspect Grissom's bruised chest. The gentle touch was enough to drive what little breath that was left from his lungs and an involuntary moan slipped through his lips. Realizing he was conscious – if only barely – his rescuers began to talk again, trying to hold onto him.

"Dr. Grissom? Gil? Can you hear me?"

"It's going to be ok, Gil. We're going to get you out of here."

But he couldn't breathe again, and in a desperate effort to fill his lungs he gave in to a tortured cough. More blood filled his mouth.

"Hold on, Gil, just hold on! The medics are on the way."

Just before the darkness claimed him a final time, he forced his mouth to work, ignoring the coppery bubbles that threatened to choke him. "Sara… "

"Sara Sidle? She's fine, sir, and you will be too. It's going to be ok."

* * *

Sara didn't know how long they had all been sitting in her kitchen, staring at the phone. She didn't really care. The fear in the room was almost palpable, and Sara fully understood it. Terrified better described how she felt; terrified, because she didn't know whether she wanted them to find his body, so they could have a proper funeral, or not, so she could cling to the idea that he might still be out there, ok. In her head, though, she could almost hear it. _"We found the body." _That was the way she imagined it; "_the _body." Not "Grissom's body," or "Grissom," but "the body," because it wouldn't really be him. Grissom himself would just be gone. Grissom himself _was _gone.

"Sara?" It was then that she realized that Greg had moved to sit beside her on the sofa. Tentatively his hand reached out and took hers, squeezing gently.

Her first instinct was to pull away, but then she saw how his eyes glistened with unshed tears, and she disentangled their fingers and draped her arm around his shoulders comfortingly. In that moment she hated herself for the way she had acted – selfish.

They had all lost him, not just her. They had all lost a friend. Nick, Warrick and Greg had lost a mentor, as well; a father figure. Sara… she wasn't so sure what exactly she herself had lost, but she knew that she would never find anything like it again. Though it was little noticed, he had been a big part of their lives, and in many ways his loss had left a void. And as Sara realized this, she pulled Greg closer to her and allowed him to bury his head in her shoulder and cry.

Ten minutes later, as Greg's tears began to slow, the phone finally rang. The sound was loud and harsh, drowning out the soft sound of Greg's sobs, and they all jumped. When they registered where the sound was coming from, the tension in the room thickened. They eyed the phone, and each other; none of them wanted to be the one to hear it first.

It rang a second time, shattering the silence. Nick shifted in his seat nervously. Catherine's hand flew up to cover her mouth, as though she were afraid she would throw up. Warrick and Brass stared blankly at the wall. Greg began to shake even harder. Sara picked up the phone.

"Sidle."

"Oh, hi, is Jim Brass there? I was told I could reach him at this number."

"Yeah," Sara responded, her voice trembling, "He's here. Can I take a message?"

"Well, can I just talk to him?"

Sara's first instinct was to hand over the phone; then she steeled herself, and swallowed hard. "I'll pass on whatever you have to say." She needed to do this.

"Uh, I need to…" the man sighed, and then gave in. "Whatever. Tell him that we found Dr. Grissom…" Sara closed her eyes against the pain "… and he's on his way to Desert Palms Hospital."

It took a moment for the words to sink in, as her face paled and her stomach gave a strange jolt. "Wh… what? Excuse me?"

The man gave a shuddering sigh that could only be relief. "He's on his way to Desert Palm. He's alive; barely, but in the end I guess the only thing that matters is he made it. Tell Jim, will you?"

"That's not funny…" she began as she felt tears of rage prick her eyes, but then there was a buzzing sound as the man hung up.

"What is it, Sara?" Nick asked, his voice shaking the tiniest bit. "Who was it?"

And then she realized it was for real, and her face fell to her hands as she sobbed. "They… they found him. Oh, God. He's alive. Grissom's alive."

* * *

Sara couldn't sit still. Even though they had been informed that Grissom was in surgery, and that it could be some time before anyone was able to see him, she continued to pace, looking up expectantly every time someone walked through the doors that led to the operating room. Only she and Catherine were left to wait now; Ecklie had called and informed Catherine that they were needed back at the lab, but in the end only Warrick, Nick and Greg had left because Catherine was listed as Grissom's next of kin, and Sara wasn't in any shape to work. It was the only thing Sara could ever remember thanking Ecklie for. Brass had been called away as well, soon after, and for Sara it was almost a relief. The police captain and the others had been trying to make her sit, and relax, and she wasn't sure how much longer she could have gone without becoming angry with them. For the moment, all she wanted was to be left alone to wait in peace. Catherine, at least, understood this.

Finally, after too many hours of waiting, Grissom's doctor emerged from the operating room, still wearing his scrubs.

"Catherine Willows?" he asked.

"How is he, doctor?" Sara blurted.

"Are you Catherine Willows?" the man asked patiently.

Sara was about to tell him that it didn't matter who she was, and to just answer the God damn question, when she felt Catherine's calming presence move to stand beside her.

"Yes, this is Catherine Willows. Do you need some ID?" the blonde said, a dangerous edge to her voice. Sara didn't have time to be shocked as the doctor shook his head.

"No, that's quite all right," he quickly amended, turning to Sara. "I'm sorry, Ms. Willows."

"Uh, that's, that's all right," Sara replied faintly. "How's Grissom?"

"Well, he's got multiple contusions and abrasions, a broken wrist and a dislocated shoulder, both on the left side. It looks as though he may have tried to grab onto something as he was being swept downstream; not only is his wrist broken and his shoulder dislocated, he's torn the rotator cuff severely. He'll need to see a physiotherapist later on to regain full use of that arm. As expected he's also suffering from a concussion, and several broken ribs, one of which punctured his lung. We've patched up the hole and taped him up, but we aren't going to be able to put a cast on his wrist until the swelling goes down, which will hopefully be soon."

"Can I… can we see him?"

The doctor sighed. "We're moving him to a room in the ICU now, Ms. Willows; give it about thirty minutes." He nodded towards the nurse behind the desk down the hall. "She'll tell you which room he's been put in. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't allow your friend to accompany you. I don't want more than one person in there at a time right now, and only for a few minutes."

"But…"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Willows. I have to think of my patient. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go get cleaned up."

As he walked away, Sara turned to Catherine. "I'm sorry, Cath. I… you shouldn't have said I was you. I know you want to go see him. You should go…"

"Stop, Sara," Catherine broke in, smiling a little in amusement at how flustered the younger woman was becoming. "Yes, I want to go see him; he's my best friend," She held up a hand when Sara began to speak, "But, I'm not stupid. I have eyes, and ears. You need to be in there for him right now. Just… tell him I love him and to get better soon, all right? Or maybe not. Do you think that's too sentimental? Because I know he wouldn't want things to get too mushy." Tears suddenly shone in her eyes, and Sara realized it was her turn to be strong.

"Hey, it's going to be okay. He's okay, Cath."

"Yeah," Catherine sniffed, "I know. Give him a kiss from me, and tell him he should be happy because it's the only one he's ever getting."

It was Sara's turn to smile as she hugged her friend. "Well, if it's the only one he's getting, don't you think you should give it to him?"

Catherine was silent for a moment, and then shrugged. "Ok, so give him one from you."

"What?" Sara couldn't help but stare in surprise.

"Like I said, I'm not stupid, and my eyes and ears work just fine." She smirked as she pulled a tissue out of her purse and began gingerly dabbing at her mascara. "Besides, he'd probably like it better than a kiss from me."

* * *

As she walked down the hall towards Grissom's room, Sara couldn't help the shiver that ran down her spine. It was different, being in the hospital to see a friend instead of regarding a case; it was scarier.

Finally, she saw room number 235, and she pushed open the door hesitantly. At first she thought she was in the wrong room; from the bed against the wall a pair of big brown eyes peered out at her from an unruly mop of black hair.

"Uh, sorry, I…"

"You're here for him, over there, aren't you?" the kid said, his voice gravely as he flicked his eyes over towards the curtain that hid the other side of the room.

"Yeah," Sara said sheepishly, feeling her face flush a bit. "Yeah, I am."

"You his wife?"

"What? Oh, no. Just a… friend." Her flush deepened. "A good friend, I think."

But it appeared that he had lost interest in her already, as he turned back to the book he had been reading.

Relieved, Sara pushed her way past the curtain to the other side of the room. She stopped short, though, when she saw him. The dark bruises on his face and arms stood out in stark contrast to the sterilized whiteness of the walls and the sheets. His broken wrist lay by his side, swollen and sore looking. As she stared at him, taking it all in, she found herself fighting tears, and she slumped into the chair beside his bed and buried her face in her hands, crying.

Time passed without her knowledge, and she continued to sob softly, her eyes closed and her hands clenched into fists on her lap. She almost didn't notice when the soft, steady beep of the heart monitor suddenly changed its pattern, and gentle fingers reached out to wipe away the tears that stained her cheeks. For a moment she remained, frozen; then she realized, and her eyes snapped open.

"Grissom," she choked out. His blue eyes were worried and she pushed away all the conflicting emotions she felt and forced a smile. The last thing he needed right now was to be worrying about her. "I'm glad you're awake." But her smile and the words did nothing to banish the worry from his face, and she glanced down, suddenly unsure of herself.

"You ok?" he asked, and his voice was hoarse sounding and weak.

"Yeah," she said brightly, "I'm fine. Just glad to see you're all right."

She realized, then, that it was useless to pretend, as a few stray tears leaked out and trickled down her cheeks. Once again he reached forward, gently rubbing them away. This time, however, he didn't remove his hand, and Sara leaned into it as she was overwhelmed with emotion once more.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "You're the one who's all beat up. I should be… taking care of you. I've just… been like this all day. Can't seem to stop, you know?"

Grissom studied her seriously through weary eyes, gently rubbing his thumb across her cheekbone. "You… thought I was dead," he murmured, his eyes still half closed from exhaustion, brought on by his ordeal and the anaesthesia that was still in his system.

"Ye…yes," she said, as her chest heaved in an attempt to fill her lungs properly. "They sa… said there was no chance."

"'s okay," he said softly, his hand gently drawing her closer so she could rest her head against his uninjured shoulder. "It's… all right. I'm all… right."

Vaguely, he wondered if he should really be doing this; wasn't he supposed to be avoiding contact of this type? But in the end it didn't matter, because he couldn't stand to see her this way, and the pain meds were making things hazy. He wasn't sure what was what anymore.

So for the first time in a long time he allowed her to know that he really did care, and let her cry on his shoulder. Besides – if it really came down to it, he could blame it on the meds.

"Shhhh… everything's going to be ok." He wanted to say more, to reassure her, but he was already so tired, and the pain meds weren't helping him stay awake. But he couldn't let go, just yet; he needed to know about the others. In his mind's eye he could see Jamieson's terrified face as he, too, was swept away, and Grissom prayed to God he was ok.

"Sara… Dean Jamieson," he said softly, as she dried her eyes for what felt like the millionth time that day. It was all he needed to say; she knew instantly what he wanted.

She hesitated for a moment, though, and he squeezed her hand, a gentle plea that was more meaningful than words. "Please, Sara."

She sighed. "He didn't make it, Gris."

"How…"

"His neck was snapped."

"Oh." It was all he could say. He hadn't known the officer very well, but they had spoken on a few occasions, and Jamieson had been one of a few officers who had respected and understood the huge importance of what the CSIs did. When they did work together, he had often questioned Grissom on entomology and the science of being a CSI. Grissom had been more than happy to answer his questions.

"Nick and… Jim… they're ok, right?" he asked, blinking hard as he tried to push away the sleep that threatened to overwhelm him.

"Yeah. Relieved to hear you're alive. So are Warrick and Catherine." Suddenly remembering something, Sara gave a small smile – small, but real. "I was the only one allowed to see you, so Catherine said to tell you she loves you and to get better soon."

She laughed at the look on his face. "She thought it might be too mushy for your taste."

"Yeah, well," he muttered, yawning widely.

Sara glanced at the clock, and saw that it had been almost ten minutes since she had come in. Considering that Grissom was practically asleep already, and the doctor would be in at any minute to kick her out, she realized it was probably time to leave.

"I better get out of here, Grissom," she said softly, "You need to get some sleep."

"Mm," he mumbled. _Thanks for being here, _he thought, as he drifted off. He didn't have the strength left to say it out loud.

Gently releasing his hand, Sara placed it back at his side, and then stood. "Catherine also said to give you a kiss from me," she whispered. And even though he had already floated back to peaceful oblivion, she could have sworn she saw the corner of his mouth twitch up in a small smile for a second.

* * *

Grissom's doctor, who had made his way to the room immediately upon being alerted by the nurse that his patient was awake, continued to study the scene before him as the young woman – who was most definitely not Catherine Willows - leaned over and kissed Grissom lightly on the cheek. He smiled. It always helped recovery rates when a patient got plenty of TLC from their friends and family. It looked as though Mr. Grissom would be getting just that. 


	3. Chapter 3: 'Love Grissom'

A/N: So, last chapter guys... I know it's short, but I hope you all liked it anyways... thanks for the reviews! They're greatly appreciated...

Chapter 3: 'Love Grissom'

When Grissom woke again it was to darkness, the soft breathing of the young boy that shared the room with him, and an intense pain that sent fire raging through his chest. He couldn't breathe for it; the icy finger of fear that slid down into his gut did nothing to quench the burning inferno.

"Sar… Sara," he gasped, tears coming to his eyes as he tried to find the nurse call button but failed in his panic. "Oh God," he moaned, feeling the sweat running down his neck, "Oh, God."

And then suddenly a light came on, and a nurse rushed to his side. She said something, but he wasn't listening; all he knew was the pain.

It seemed like hours passed before the pain began to disappear, and the nurse smiled and patted his arm gently. Her lips moved, but again he heard nothing, and he watched through half-lidded eyes as she rearranged the blankets around him, tucking them in firmly, and then disappeared out the door. The light flicked off behind her.

For a long time afterwards he lay awake, drowsy from the pain meds but unable to sleep, staring into the murky darkness above him.

* * *

The next day, when Grissom woke for the third time, he tensed, waiting for the pain. None came, though, and as he relaxed he released a small sigh of relief. It was only then that he noticed he was rather stiff and, lifting the blanket, he discovered that he was taped tightly from armpits to hips. 

_Broken ribs, _he thought to himself. Already he was exhausted from the little bit of exertion. Sighing, he let the covers fall back into place, and shifted his left arm experimentally.

To his dismay, he found it wouldn't move. He tried again, more determined, and his arm lifted about a centimetre from the bed covers before flopping back down as pain surged through his shoulder and wrist. Panting and gasping, he bit his tongue to stop from groaning aloud.

"Mr. Grissom, that's quite enough exercise for you today, I think," a voice rang out from the doorway, and Grissom glanced over to see a doctor and a nurse striding into the room. The doctor looked disapproving, to say the least.

"Just testing," Grissom mumbled by way of explanation.

The doctor shook his head and pulled up a chair, slouching into it as though into a recliner. His gaze held a warning. "I'll be the only one doing the testing around here, Mr. Grissom, you can count on that."

Grissom didn't respond to the jab. Instead, he did his best to relax. "So, what's the prognosis?" he questioned, feeling better almost immediately as he took control of the situation.

"Fairly good, for what you've been through, actually. You've got a slight concussion…"

Grissom frowned, interrupting. "If I have a concussion, why did I sleep through the night?"

"You didn't," the doctor responded, raising an eyebrow. "You were woken every hour. You don't remember?"

Slightly disturbed by this Grissom let out a soft 'no,' and then fell silent as the doctor pulled out a small light and inspected his pupils.

"Well," he murmured after a moment, replacing the light in his pocket, "Does your head hurt?"

"Not really… just feels fuzzy."

"That's not uncommon. Do you know your name?"

Not at all impressed at the sudden question, Grissom nevertheless responded without complaining. "Gil Grissom."

"Where are you?"

"Las Vegas, Nevada, Desert Palms Hospital."

"When's your birth date?"

"August 17, 1956."

"Who's the president?"

"George W. Bush," Grissom grunted, "And I think you've made your point."

The doctor grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief, and Grissom wished he could smack him. "Fine, fine, take it easy. Just testing…"

Grimacing, Grissom didn't respond, and the doctor became serious again.

"It's fairly normal for there to be memory loss in the hours surrounding the head injury, so I wouldn't worry too much. There's no bleeding so far as we can tell."

"So everything's normal?"

"Yes," the doctor nodded, "quite normal. But we'll be keeping an eye on your for a few more days, anyways; everyone's different, and we just need to make sure."

"I understand," Grissom murmured, his eyelids growing heavy. "What about the rest?"

"The rest, yes… the poor shoulder you were brutalizing a moment ago was dislocated; we've popped it back into place, but it's still going to ache. Not to mention the fact that you've torn the rotator cuff. You're going to need…"

"Physical therapy…" Grissom interjected wearily.

"Yes, yes… and your ribs. You've…."

"Broken…"

"Five ribs and bruised and cracked an assortment of others. I imagine it will be quite painful for a while."

"Lungs?"

"A rib punctured the right one; we drained it and patched it up and got you breathing again easily. It was fairly clean. Why; are you having trouble breathing?"

"Just… aches…"

For the first time, the doctor smiled kindly, and patted his arm, just like the nurse had the previous night. It was the trademark move of health care workers everywhere. "You can thank the pain meds for that, Mr. Grissom."

Getting the hidden meaning, Grissom grimaced. "Mmmm…"

"I get the feeling you'd like to get some sleep, so I'll leave you to it," the doctor grinned. "You'll be woken every hour by the nurse, just like last night. Please do be cooperative."

"Mmmm…" For a moment he hung suspended in darkness.

"Have a good rest," a far away voice whispered, and then it was gone.

* * *

When Catherine came to visit that morning at twelve o'clock, she took one look at him and burst into tears. 

"Grissom, you son of a bitch, don't you _ever _do that to me again! I thought you were _dead_! I thought… no, you _were _dead! You… you… if you _ever _do something like this again I'll kill you myself, God damn it! I'll skin you alive and boil you in oil and all that great stuff, and then I'll give your head to Sam as a trophy! I'll… damn you Grissom!" she sobbed, burying her head in his chest so he had to bite back a groan of pain.

"Cath," he gasped, "Catherine, I'm ok. And I'm sorry I caused you so much grief."

"Oh, Gil," she muttered a moment later when she had regained her composure and pulled back, dabbing carefully at her mascara with a tissue.

"Oh, Catherine," Grissom mumbled sarcastically in response, staring down at the black smudge that now adorned the front of his hospital gown.

Giving him a stern look, Catherine sniffed again, and continued dabbing. "Gil, Sara… she was devastated. She thought… well we all thought you were dead. Sara was just so…"

"Catherine," Grissom interrupted, trying to sound as authoritative as was possible while lying on one's back in a hospital bed, "I don't really want to…"

He trailed off as he realized, with some shame, that Sara was standing in the doorway looking awkward and slightly hurt.

Feeling like an idiot, Grissom avoided her pained eyes and Catherine's disapproving glare and fumbled for something to say.

"Sara, I wasn't… I just meant…"

But before he could complete the mangled apology, Sara had pulled up a chair beside Catherine and was silencing him with her own death glare, though it was hardly as scary as Catherine's had been.

"Shut up, Grissom. We'll put this down to the drugs and leave it at that, ok?"

Grissom blinked up at her in confusion for a moment, processing what she had said. "But I was only…"

"And if you don't like that," Sara broke in threateningly, "I'll steal Sam's trophy and give it to Lady Heather."

At that Grissom flushed, and he wished desperately he could disappear – at the very least get up and walk out of the room. But of course neither of those scenarios was an option, and Catherine and Sara were sitting there looking smug; _they _wouldn't be leaving any time soon. They were enjoying his discomfort too much.

And yet despite those feelings of confusion, embarrassment and irritation he was relieved, too; Sara was laughing off his screw-up. That was something that hadn't happened in a long time – his fault, he admitted it.

But knowing things were starting to work out gave him a good feeling, and suddenly he found himself relaxing, slipping into a comfortable, warm cocoon as the two women made small talk. Every once in a while he would nod, or make some sound of agreement, but for the most part he was silent, soaking up the sound and sight of them; Catherine, one of his best friends, and Sara, his… _whatever the heck she is,_ he finished lamely, his calm disturbed momentarily as he contemplated that.

She was more than just his student or his colleague, he knew that for a fact. It was just a question of whether he acknowledged it at the important moments. He knew he rarely, if ever, did. He often left her hanging, even if all she was doing was making polite conversation. Bitterly, he remembered her words from the other morning.

_"Too bad we couldn't get a chopper, at least for the body; then we could hitch a ride."_

He had ignored her. And why? It was an innocent comment; just bit of conversation.

Sometimes, he thought he knew why he did such things; but then other times, he was beyond even his own understanding.

Remembering that morning, he suddenly couldn't seem to think of anything else, despite his best efforts to ignore it.

Really, if he were the sort who laid blame, he would be angry with Dean Jamieson for panicking, and Nick and Sara for not being ready for such a reaction. But rather than anger, he felt only sick shock at Jamieson's death, and relief so strong at seeing Sara alive and well that it hurt.

In his mind's eye he could still see her falling; could still feel the ground sliding away underneath him as she slammed into his chest. His body trembled, and his heart thudded hard and fast, his palms wet with fear. _Don't think about it, _he told himself, _just don't think about it. You can't think, remember? The morphine doesn't let you think…_

"Grissom, you ok?"

"Fine," Grissom mumbled, "I'm fine."

"No," Sara responded worriedly as her gaze flicked from the wildly beeping heart monitor to his trembling frame, "No, you're not ok."

"I'll get the doctor," Catherine said tersely, hiding her fear behind a purposeful, urgent mask.

"I'm fine," Grissom gasped insistently, struggling to breathe, "I'm really fine." But the pain was back; the morphine was just about out of his system, and the agony and fear were blocking out everything.

"Grissom," Sara whispered gently, pressing her own trembling fingers to the hammering pulse in his neck.

Unsure what she wanted, and still struggling to free himself from the desperate emotions that clutched at him, Grissom stared up at her as though he would die if he looked away.

They stayed that way for hours, it seemed, with the only sounds those of Grissom's harsh breathing and the heart monitor beeping like crazy. Then, finally, Sara moved, reaching forward to touch his cheek. It was then, as his heart rate sped even faster, displayed on the monitor for the whole world to see, that he realized she was wiping away tears – his tears.

Slightly shocked, Grissom lifted his own hand, and their fingers collided.

"Gris," she said, grasping his hand and squeezing gently, "Its ok. Everything's ok. Catherine's gone to get the doctor…"

"Sara," he said hoarsely, painfully, as more tears cascaded down his cheek, "Sara…"

"And Nick's ok," she soothed, "He's going to come visit in an hour or two. He's just got a bandage on one arm; that's it." She smiled. "You guys can trade signatures."

"Sara…"

"And I'm fine, too. You know, you saved my life, Gris, and this whole thing… I thought I had things under control… sort of… but then this… like setting free an ocean of emotion… shit, that sounded stupid… I didn't mean to rhyme… it's corny, really, like that stupid Celine Dion song… you know, _show some emotion… set free an ocean… _all that crap…"

"Sara, you're babbling," Grissom interrupted, his voice weak and slightly watery.

"Yeah, I know," she laughed, tears now sliding down her own cheeks. "Over-talking."

"Under-talking," he countered with the best smile he could summon in his weakened state as he reached up to return her gesture, wiping away her tears.

"Maybe we should trade," she whispered. "And then everything would balance out."

"Maybe," he returned, swallowing the pain and forcing his eyes to focus on her.

By the time the doctor arrived with Catherine, Sara was sitting with her head resting on Grissom's shoulder, and their clasped hands rested over his heart as she did her best to sooth him and ease the pain.

As the doctor strode forward, snapping out questions, Catherine gaped in shock.

"Are you feeling any pain Mr. Grissom?"

"Yeah… my whole body hurts," was the strained reply.

_Yeah right, _Catherine thought, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. _You've got Sara practically lying on top of you. How can you even _think _about pain, you big oaf?_

"I'm going to give you another shot of morphine, ok?"

"Fine…"

_Ha, you don't need it! You're probably high as a kite… on Sara… _

She couldn't help but smile, though, as the doctor adjusted the drip and the lines of pain on Grissom's face slowly began to ease. Sara shifted closer to the scientist, leaning forward to whisper something in his ear.

_You go Gil, you finally did something right… _

Still smirking, Catherine went to lower herself into the visitor's chair that was still parked by the door, but was grabbed and swept out into the hall by the doctor.

"Hey!" she protested loudly.

"He's going to be asleep in a few minutes anyways, Ms. Willows, and they need to have that time to themselves."

"Hell no," Catherine sputtered, "I want to see this! I've _waited _to see this for _years_! You couldn't possibly understand!"

Smirking, he kept his hold on her arm. "I think I do, Ms. Willows. Come on. I'll buy you a coffee."

"Damn it!" Catherine complained as she trailed after him, "If I'd known all I had to do to get them together was almost kill Grissom I would have done it years ago!"

* * *

"'S Cath gone?" Grissom mumbled, with his eyelids drooping as the morphine began to work. 

"Yeah," Sara smiled, "Though she didn't go willingly."

"No surprise…" His mouth quirked up in a smile. He felt wonderful. The pain was gone, his team was safe, and Sara was holding his hand. What more could he ask for?

"Be here?" he slurred.

For a moment she was confused. Then she smiled as she understood. "Yeah, I'll be here when you wake up."

"Kay."

As he drifted off, he smiled. Sara's fingers ran through his hair rhythmically as she pressed a kiss to his temple.

"I'll be here when you wake up," she whispered again. "Are _you _gonna be here?"

Even flying on pain medication, he knew what she meant, and clumsily gathered her free hand to his chest once again.

"Mm-hmm," he mumbled, pressing his lips to her knuckles. "Buy you… whole bunch of… plants…"

"And sign them with something more eloquent than 'from Grissom?'"

"Yup…"

"All right then," she smiled. "I'll definitely be here."

"'Love Grissom.'"

She blinked. "Huh?"

"'Love Grissom.'"

"Gris," she whispered. But he was asleep. And then she was crying again; crying and laughing. "Yeah," she said softly, into his ear, "Yeah, 'love Grissom' sounds a lot better than 'from Grissom.' But you still have to write a message, buddy. I won't let you get away with anything less."

The End


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